


grimalkin

by gryffindormischief



Series: Harry Potter AUs! [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 22:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14247279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: Prompt: “My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back.”





	grimalkin

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a little silly fluff piece that's kinda a little crack-ish but I made myself laugh, so I hope you do too!

Pretty much ninety percent of cat owners call their cats an asshole at one point or another, and they all mean it in a ‘my cat likes to chew my power chords and cough up hairballs on my favorite jumper’ kind of way.  And Hattie definitely fits that description, but more often than not, her adorable wide, green eyes turn on Ginny innocently to escape ramifications for much _stranger_ infractions.

Since Hattie’d moved beyond her kitten fumblings, so had her antics.  It started with the ruined wires and special ‘surprises’ that a quick google search told Ginny meant her cat thought she was a large, hairless, idiot cat.  That liked to eat lizards, apparently. But things progressed, and maybe Hattie thought Ginny needed to wear less revealing clothes – the fickle thing _does_ seem to like chatting with Mrs. Weasley – because she’s started finding strange pants in her cottage.  And between long hours in class, a soul-sucking internship, and too-long nights spent studying till she’s bleary eyed and half crazed, Ginny knows the little collection isn’t a result of any sensual escapades.  

Honestly, without her cat, she wouldn’t have seen another person’s pants in the last half-year. And before that, it was washing day and the pants were her brother’s. Which, come to think of it, may mean Hattie’s more concerned about Ginny being alone forever than being naked and really makes the ‘in cahoots with Molly Weasley’ theory even more plausible.

But Ginny loves the little possibly match-making kleptomaniac, flaws and all, so she keeps her knickers in a high drawer, hides her laundry bag, and tosses her spare change in a jar marked ‘pants.’  Which addresses her own issues, but not the strangers who think the community dryers are eating their underthings. Her hope lies in the probability that her cat does not have a predilection for certain neighbor’s pants and the petty theft is spread over the inhabitants enough that no one will take too much notice.

An overly optimistic hope that’s quickly dashed when she’s halfway through folding her laundry and a throat clears from a few spaces over.  “So, this is going to sound like a horrible pick up line – “

Ginny quirks a brow, hoping she maintains a flat expression despite the interloper’s wild hair and wide green eyes.  He grins and her face _definitely_ flushes.  “But I have to ask someone.”

“I’m not much for fabric softener, so I can’t help you there,” Ginny murmurs, folding her laundry.

“Well that’s your loss,” her neighbor smirks, “But I wanted to see if you’ve noticed anything going _missing_?”

Ginny chokes, “That does,” she sniffs, “Not sound familiar.  Maybe you’ve just misplaced them?”

“It’s not that easy to misplace seven pairs of pants,” he drawls with a grin.

Repressing her groan, Ginny makes to shove her remaining laundry in her basket to inevitably get wrinkly, but she’s got to escape before she goes down for a pickpocket cat.  “Well, you know, things are strange,” she grinds out, “’Sides I don’t discuss pants with nameless people.”

 _And now she’s accidentally flirting_.

He laughs, “I’m Harry,” and backs away, pressing his glasses up and backing away with his empty laundry bag, “And I’ll stop bothering you, sorry.”

Sighing, Ginny drops her detergent bottle into her toasty basket of clothes and turns to her new – Harry.   “Maybe it’s one of our neighbors with some fetish – people can be weird.”

“That means they’re getting into my flat,” he frowns, and Ginny’s heart thuds.

“Instead of jumping to conclusions, maybe we could do some recon?”

“We?” Harry asks, leading the way toward the lifts.

Ginny shrugs, mind whirring as she’s already composing a stern lecture for Hattie in her head.  “Before the knicker stealer comes for me.”

Harry smiles, leaning casually against the wall and propping his basket on the handle.  “Alright, partner. How about a stake out?”

“I can get some cameras,” Ginny offers, dreading explaining to Fred and George exactly _why_ she needs them as the floors tick away while also planning how to keep Hattie under wraps until the ‘investigation’ is over.  Which doesn’t even confront the whole issue of framing someone or something else for the panty thefts.

The doors open and Harry holds the lift open, pressing his back to the door.  “We should exchange mobile numbers so we can coordinate the sting operation.”

Unable to help herself, Ginny barks out a laugh and shakes her head.  “You take your under things very seriously.”

“Any excuse to avoid my thesis, yeah?” Harry snickers, pulling his phone from his pocket and passing it to Ginny.  

Just as the lift starts angrily beeping at them and trying to close Harry in its jaws, Ginny finishes inputting her information and gives him a small wave.  “That sounds about right. We’ll coordinate schedules after I get the supplies.”

“And I’ll provide the snacks.”

As the doors finally slip closed, Ginny lets her head drop back against the wall and groans.  “What the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into, Ginevra?”

* * *

 

They make plans to meet on the roof on Friday night so their flats will be unoccupied, and thus not deterring any trespassers and pants stealers.  Though Ginny ruins that plan by locking Hattie in the loo with a few toys, snacks, and a sad frown. “You brought this on yourself, love.”

Hattie blinks up at her with those wide eyes set deep in her flat little head and Ginny resists the urge to scratch the little troublemaker right between her squat ears.  “I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

On the way out, she grabs a jumper and a couple of beers and rides the lift with a few more nerves than sitting and watching a deliberately uneventful webcam feed for a couple hours with her admittedly fit neighbor.  In fairness to herself, this _is_ the closest she’s been to a date in – a very long time.

When she jogs the last few steps up to the roof, she slips into the early evening chill and spots Harry already set up in the far corner with a few glowing lanterns and entirely too much take out for two people.  “Hey Gin!” _Bloody hell_.

“Harry!” Ginny chokes out, quickly claiming her folding chair and taking a steadying breath as she glances at her co conspirator.

“Ready for justice?” He asks with a grin, pulling the take out bags closer so he can disperse their orders, “I got what you asked, plus some extras to share.”

“With the whole building?” Ginny snorts.

“Something against having leftovers?” Harry queries, nudging her with his elbow as he re positions his laptop.

Rolling her eyes, Ginny pulls her jumper overhead and tucks one foot underneath her bum as Harry pulls a large, worn, blanket from his satchel.  “Thought we might get chilly.”

Their eyes lock, and Ginny almost forgets that this _isn’t_ an actual date.  But then her eyes stray to the laptop screen where a pile of Harry’s underwear waits in his abandoned flat – which she will admit, in the private of her mind, she wishes she were seeing in decidedly different circumstances.

Still, she’s sharing free dinner with a fit neighbor while the sun sets over London, so she can’t be _too_ disappointed.  And if the way Harry lingers outside her door when he walks her home is any indication, Hattie might not be a terrible matchmaker.

* * *

 

Between sparse texting with Harry and her still hellacious schedule, Ginny manages to forget that their friendship was in fact forged in the fire of literal cat burglary.

Until she’s on a fifteen-minute break and her phone lights with a message from Harry.

_got the culprit_

_will hold until you arrive_

Ginny’s heart thuds and she wants to lock herself in the slightly rank smelling loo and never come out, but she manages to type out a reply with shaking fingers.

_Oh yeah?  I get off at 7_

And then the rest of her shift is a haze of panic and plastered on smiles for customers who barely make eye contact because _Harry is holding her cat hostage_.

She clocks out and spends the entire train ride home trying and failing to come up with some explanation that doesn’t make her sound like she wants to steal Harry’s hair in his sleep and eventually settles on unrepentant denial of all accusations, stealing Hattie back, and possibly moving to South America.

Still, she’s got that calm that accompanies resignation by the time Harry opens the door with an entirely too smug Hattie in his arms.  The little troublemaker cuddles closer into the crook of Harrys arm as if to rub in the fact that she’s gotten further with Harry than Ginny has.

“I know I should be a little brassed off with this – he looks at the name tag – _Hatshepsut_ , but she’s adorable.”

“Yeah, just great,” Ginny drawls, inviting herself inside and sending the little treacherous cat a scowl when Harry’s not looking.

As Hattie butts her head against Harry’s palm, Ginny leans against the countertop, “So, any clues where the little rascal came from?”

“Nah, Hatshepsut’s got a tag but no identified owner,” he scratches under her chin and turns to Ginny, “Though there can’t be too many people who’d pick a name _that_ nerdy.”

“Hatshepsut _was_ a groundbreaking ruler and only the second female pharaoh,” Ginny can’t help saying while Harry eyes her thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, for all her tendencies for hijinks, Hattie seems content to keep her and Ginny’s rather close relationship secret and simply blinks at Ginny with those wide, ever so innocent eyes.

“S’true.  Still kind of a niche name for a cat,” Harry chuckles as Hattie climbs up his chest and circles his neck, swishing her tail at Ginny, “Barely fits on the tag.”

“Well it _does.”_

“Obviously – but who sees a Scottish Fold and thinks _Hatshepsut?”_

As Hattie starts picking her way down Harry’s shoulder and onto the counter, sending Ginny what can only be classified as a challenging glance, she finally snaps, “What the bloody hell does it matter to you what I named my cat?”

Harry’s brows shoot up as the flush rises violently on Ginny’s cheeks and she’s out the door - Hattie in hand - before she can melt into the floor.

* * *

 

For the next fortnight, Ginny manages to keep Hattie relegated to _her_ flat - mostly by sacrificing her own knickers - and avoids Harry like its her job.  Mostly by going to her _actual_ jobs and the stress of midterms, but she knows this is only a temporary solution.  

Still, given the occasional confused and unnecessarily apologetic texts Harry sends, Ginny’s really expecting him showing up at her doorstep to be what breaks the silence.   _Not_ a pair of pants.

Hattie’s perched on the back of the couch, blinking at her expectantly with a pair of boxers dangling from between her teeth.  “I really wish I could monetize this, Hattie.”

Sighing, Ginny pulls the garment toward her and on further inspection realizes they’ve been personalized.

_I miss U Gin_

_\- H_

Face heating, Ginny drops the pants into her lap while Hattie purrs.  Debating for a moment, Ginny finally decides to send a quick text to check in before she heads to Harry’s.

_You home?_

He answers almost immediately in the affirmative and Ginny’s pulling on leggings and twisting her hair into a braid before she chickens out.  And then she’s knocking on his door, cat in one hand and pants in the other.

On the third knock, Harry pulls the door open, wary.  “Alright?”

“Sorry for - a lot of weird things that I can name if you like,” Ginny mutters while Hattie droops toward Harry hopefully.

A smile cracks his face as he scratches the back of his neck, “Nah, you can put it in writing later.”

“I can do that,” she fumbles her other cargo until the script shows and holds it in front of Harry’s face, “Though not this _elegantly_.”

Harry’s mouth drops open as his face reddens immediately.  “I - how - would denial work?”

“I think at this point we’ve learned not to try and keep secrets from each other,” Ginny laughs, “Because my cat will out us.”

“Actually _you_ outed yourself, if we’re being accurate,” Harry teases.  

“Tomato, _tomato_ ,” Ginny answers with a sigh, finally letting Hattie make her way into Harry’s arms.

Propping himself against the doorjamb, Harry gestures behind himself, “Want to come in?”

“Might be best to hash this out inside, yeah.”

Harry leads the way into his flat and hesitates a moment before perching awkwardly on the edge of the couch, as if it’s not his own flat. As he scratches beneath Hattie’s chin in that way that has her purring almost instantly, Ginny gives into the temptation to inspect Harry’s apartment. “So. Your – _note.”_

“Would you believe I have a tendency to drunk-embroider?”

“Is it _true_?” And when he doesn’t, she claims a seat across from him, “’Drunk Harry’ becomes an elderly craftsman?”

“The domestic arts are important,” Harry grumbles while Hattie tilts her head for a more desirable angle, “You sound like my mum.”

“She must be brilliant,” Ginny drawls, lounging comfortably. “Slightly related, do you run all your weird underwear themed pick up lines past your mum?”

Harry sniffs, “ _No_. She came over and just started doing my washing,” he pauses with a grimace, “Which may not be all that helpful of a clarification.”

“Your mum is _definitely_ fantastic.”

“She called me an old lady.”

“Again, amazing,” Ginny teases.

Eyeing Ginny for a moment as Hattie butts her head against his chin, Harry sighs. “I knew it was a cat, _your cat_ , the whole time.”

Ginny quirks her brow and he amends, “ _Most_ of the time – definitely by the point we met.”

“Dare I ask how?”

“I’ve spent most of my time the last few months locked in this flat writing my thesis – I was bound to catch the little cat burglar,” he chuckles, “Sorry about the pun.”

“No you’re not.”

“No I’m not.”

Hattie presses her paws against Harry’s lap and curls onto herself to sleep while his hand hovers over her dark fur. Ginny picks at a hole in her jeans, “ _So_.”

“So,” Harry drops his head back, “Can I preface this with a promise that I’m _not_ a stalker, just a socially inept man with temporarily extraordinary good luck?”

“Noted.”

“I saw the collar and knew she had an owner, and then I figured she was well cared for and couldn’t have traveled _too_ far.”

“So you just wanted to hook up with Hattie’s owner because you got attached?”

Harry winces. “No – I only realized when I saw her slip back into your flat with my pants.”

Standing, Ginny brushes her hand over her lips and frowns, before turning to Harry, “And then you realized it was an excellent pick up line?”

He glances down at Hattie where she sleeps, clearly wishing he could get up without upending the sleeping feline, but settling for a quiet answer. “I think we can both agree this was not some patented pick up plan.”

“If it was, you get points for creativity.”

Blinking up at her from behind smudged glasses, Harry grins hopefully, if a bit hesitantly, “So when I saw you in the laundry – ”

Gently, Ginny claims the cushion next to Harry and leans in slowly. “I think I know everything from there.”

“Mostly me studying and pining,” Harry murmurs.

Ginny brushes her fingers against his, “I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Potter,” and then her lips are on his, firm and sure for an all too brief kiss, cut off when a pair of claws dig into her thigh.

“Bloody hell Hattie – this is what you wanted.”

Harry laughs, “I think she just wants credit, isn’t that right?”

Hattie purrs and Ginny scoffs, “Little princess.”

“Actually queen would be more accurate, yeah?”

“Stuff it, Mr. Domestic Arts.”


End file.
